


Five Years Gone

by nyoka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anniversary, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyoka/pseuds/nyoka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things never change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Years Gone

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been five years since I started shipping these two, and nothing has ever quite been the same. A little ficlet to mark the occasion. Originally posted [here](http://nyokafic.tumblr.com/post/61642929449/fic-five-years-gone-dean-cas).

:::

They’re outside of Candor, Wyoming, and the sun is a slow dying flame sinking into the mountains. Zeppelin’s in the tape deck, volume low, almost lost under the sound of the wheels turning over gravel and the steady purr from the engine. They’re headed west, toward the dying light. Cas is riding shotgun and staring out the window, eyes tracking the passing wheat fields, the spin of yellow-gold against the tangerine sky.

"Where are we headed, Dean?" Castiel asks, after a time, eyes turning to watch Dean’s hands on the steering wheel.

Dean turns to stare at Cas, and smiles. “Dunno,” he says, shrugging. “Kind of nice just to drive.”

This had been a bit of an impromptu road trip, another month rolling by, the two of them reunited after a long time apart, and well, Dean’s one for traditions, for catching up when they can, and Cas had been willing, able, and put up no protest to hopping in the car with him. Sammy’s visiting Jody over in Sioux Falls, and it’s been a while since Dean’s taken his baby out for a long drive, felt the thrum-drum of the engine, the pulsing breakbeat of backroads and highways, Americana stripped bare beneath his girl’s tires.

Cas looks good, laid back in the seat, shoulders relaxed. Dusty green jacket that looks like it’s seen better days. Long legs covered in dark denim, and his mud-covered boots marking up the car floor. His window’s rolled down, and he has a hand swaying out the opening, fingers spread out to catch the breeze, to catch a piece of the world flying by.

Dean turns back to the long strip of highway, thinks about how he’s spent decades following the white and yellow lines, following the curve of the world into the heart of the beast. Every mile a piece of his past, a story held in the soft tremble of rocks against blacktop. The normal world just a myth he learned by campfire.

Night’s coming on now, and it’s a reminder of the steady rhythm of the Earth, a reminder that Cas is something not of the Earth, even if he’s wearing Salvation Army clothes. Dean’s reminded of how far they both are from where they first started out.

Dean inhales, sharp and loud in the quiet of the car. The road curves alongside a rolling pasture, and he shoots a look at Cas who’s already looking at him, and Dean wants to smile because they’ve been looking at each other for so long. There’s always something holding them to each other, something bringing them back together, no matter the blood, the tears, the years spreading like a long road between them.

Dean breathes in heavy and turns back to the stretch of road.

It’s night, so they keep driving.

:::

They stop for a break outside of Riversbend, miles of empty sky and emptier farmlands. Dean pulls the Impala over onto the grassy shoulder, cuts off the engine. He yawns wide and tosses a look at Cas, who’d fallen asleep a few towns back, head pressed against the window.

"Gotta take a piss, man," Dean tells him.

Cas nods, looking blearily over at Dean as he stretches in his seat, back popping so loud Dean can hear every crack. Dean opens the door and slides his legs out, back kinks and his sore ass reminding him that they’ve spent most of the day in the car.

Cas follows him outside, stands and stretches, walks toward a tree, unzips his pants, and aims at the trunk. Dean turns away, not meaning to look. He finds his own tree, unzips his jeans, and empties his bladder, whistling as he goes.

Part of him has missed this: fulfilling this primal need, man’s way of saying ‘I was here’ under the dark night sky. The soft weight of his dick in his palm, the breeze crisp and cool on his skin. Dean laughs, tucks himself away, and turns around to see Cas watching him.

They’re quiet as they head back to the car, Cas settling on the hood as Dean digs through the glove compartment for hand sanitizer, squirts some into his palm, and then tosses the small bottle to Cas. Dean then digs around until he finds his spare flask, stands and brings it to his lips. It’s whiskey, and it’s a smooth burn going down. He passes it to Cas who takes a long swallow, and the both of them lean back against the Impala, watching the purpling skyline.

"It’s good to see you, Cas," Dean says, quiet.

Cas looks at him. Smiles wryly and says, “You too, Dean.”

:::

For breakfast, they split a dozen Egg McMuffins, the two of them camped out in a field outside of Belton, Nebraska. The morning is misty and cool, the grass wet and the ground muddy from a late-night rain shower. Dean’s munching on a piece of sausage that fell out of his biscuit, and Cas has this silly, amused smile on his face as he watches him.

"What are you smiling at?" Dean asks.

Castiel’s smile grows, eyes crinkling. “You,” he says, nibbling on a hashbrown.

Dean huffs a soft laugh, but continues to stuff his face. They’re eating cold McDonald’s outside of a farm that’s probably been abandoned since the first recession. But the moment feels weirdly sacred, momentous in the way hanging out with your best bud on a country road, under a clear blue sky sometimes feels.

Five years have passed, and so much has changed, but so much has stayed the same. They’ve both fallen in ways they’ve never thought they would. But they’re still here, kicking ass, the land spread out around them on all sides. The two of them sitting side-by-side in the quietest part of the day.

Dean smiles, watching Cas watch him. Some things never change.

:::

They camp outside of Watertown, South Dakota the following night, black mountains in the distance and a sheet of stars overhead.

A warm campfire heats their bones, and Castiel’s fingers clench in Dean’s jacket, his mouth pressing against Dean’s neck. “Dean,” he whispers.

"Yeah," Dean breathes, and their movements are blurred and indistinct, following the pattern of muscle memory and the slow, thunderous roll of time. Dean can feel the catch of Castiel’s stubble along the smooth skin of his neck, can feel Castiel’s hand making it’s way down his pants, the familiar grip of his palm around his cock.

Castiel moves like the sea, like the night, teeth dragging over Dean’s chin, hands clutching at Dean’s back. Dean moves with Cas, under Cas, follows him over the edge and back again. Cas rocks into him gentle and slow, whispering _I’m here, I’m here_. In the end, Dean comes so hard he howls, loud and wild, another animal in the night.

Afterward, they’re naked, lying boneless on Dean’s old sleeping bag. These things are familiar: the heat of Castiel’s palms, the sharp bones of Castiel’s hips, the weight of his body.

"The world feels bigger now that I’m human," Castiel says, and Dean can understand it: the night sky like a infinite map above them.

"Maybe it _is_ bigger,” Dean says softly, hand curling over Castiel’s back. “But that just means there’s more of it for us to see.”

Cas curls over him, their cocks catch and drag together, and Dean’s fingers clutch at Castiel’s ass. “Then we should see it together,” Cas tells him, and Dean mumbles _yeah, fuck, yeah_ into the sweaty dip of Castiel’s neck.

Their hips hitch, their breathing syncs, mouths clinging as they kiss. Castiel’s hands grip at Dean’s shoulders, Dean’s hands grip at Castiel’s back, and the world somehow keeps right on spinning on its axis.

Some things never change.

:::

In the morning, they keep driving.

_-fin-_


End file.
